


199+1

by hader_ade



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad at communicating, Brief mentions of suicide, Comfort, Coming Out, Confessions, Drabbles, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Implied mental illness, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Internalized Homophobia, Love Confessions, M/M, One-Shot, Panic Attack, Possibly Unrequited Love, Romance, SO MUCH FLUFF, Soft Eddie Kaspbrak, Soft Richie Tozier, Suicide, Tenderness, Whipped Eddie Kaspbrak, Whipped Richie Tozier, bad at feelings, panic disorder, writing prompts, young reddie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 00:20:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21568267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hader_ade/pseuds/hader_ade
Summary: Tumblr user @/lovelosvers posted two writing prompt posts that made up like 197 prompts that I was inspired to work off of. I made it an even 200 by paraphrasing some of their original thought posts. The prompts themselves are not mine, all credit goes to them, but the writing it spawned is all my original works. Rating may fluctuate dependent on how inspired I get, pairings will change, ages will change, settings will change, but ultimately will all be centered around the Losers Club. Sorry if you feel like I am abandoning my other works for new projects (i totally am) but inspiration hits me in the most annoying of ways. I’m learning my boundaries and my capabilities. Finals are starting up and I work retail (so the holidays are kicking my ass. I am doing my best to make content that I love and that I’m proud of. Feel free to reach out to me if you have any questions, comments, concerns. I aim to please, but ultimately, I’m doing this for me. Love, as always.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 1
Kudos: 20





	1. 1. Give me a chance

Richard Tozier was- read,  _ is- _ an ass. Always has been. Always cracking jokes at the most inopportune time, bordering on filthy more often than not. He had been voted “Class Clown” every year since the third grade for class superlatives; what most people hated though, was that he was always awarded Valedictorian, too. Richard Tozier was impossibly smart. Quick witted and quick minded made for a very cumbersome young man; thankfully, he had his Losers, without them he probably wouldn’t have any friends. Close acquaintances, sure, but it’s hard to fit in with the nerds when you can’t stop for more than ten seconds at a time, always flitting away from homework in search of fun to be had. It’s also hard to fit in with the jocks when you’re sixteen and still shaped like a string bean- tall, but all limbs with no coordination in sight. Not even the drama kids wanted to keep up with his motormouth, unable to recite lines in time, favoring rushing through each scene. In short, Richard Tozier was a mayhem personified. But he never needed the nerds, or the jocks, or the drama kids- he had six, amazing friends that not only put up with his constant antics but loved him  _ because _ of them.

The same could not be said for his dating life. Each girlfriend came and went- attraction was present in the beginning of each budding relationship, but none stayed for very long. The only thing worse than a lovesick Richie was a heartbroken one. He fell head over heels too quickly time and time again, scaring away nearly every girl in their small town. They had all either been with him or heard about him, more so the latter. 

At first, the Losers hadn’t minded hearing about each failed relationship, but after Rebecca (numero four), they were more than happy to tune out Richie’s tired ramblings. All except for Eddie. He listened, every time, more often than not with a scowl on his face. A look of sheer annoyance and disgust that he carefully masked with one that was more blasé when Richie looked at him for reassurance. Everyone knew, save Richie, that these rants hurt Eddie. Eddie who had been infatuated with the other for longer than he was comfortable saying. 

They all sat strewn around the clubhouse in various stages of activity. Bill and Mike huddled over a chess game, Beverly and Ben shared the small headset of his Walkman, giggling together like two young people very much in love, Stan reclined against a pillar with a book in hand, Richie animatedly waxing poetic about his latest failed fling, and Eddie frowning at him from across the room. 

“And guys! The  _ worst _ part! She told me that my hair is dumb- fucking Jenny McComb with those stupid bangs told me that  _ my _ hair is dumb. Like has she ever looked in a mirror. I swear she-“ Stan peeked his eyes over his book and glared at Eddie. His eyes telling, far past the politeness of asking him to make it stop. Eddie threw his arms up in a “ _ what am I supposed to do? _ ” gesture. Richie’s painful monologuing continued for another 30 seconds before Stan shut with book with a resounding snap, quieting the boy and fuming at Eddie opposite him. “Would you get it over with so he’ll shut up?”

Eddie gulped, loud enough to be heard in the now silent bunker; the soft notes of New Kids On the Block having been paused, and everyone waited with bated breath. It was a discussion they all had had many times over with Eddie and now- it might finally come to fruition. He wasn’t weak, he never had been, really; but right now, he wanted to be braver than he ever had been. Eddie clenched his fists at his side and marched to the side of the hammock that Richie had sprawled across. The determination glinted in his eyes, and frankly, Richie was nervous. The last time Eddie had that look was during the rock fight, and one time after when Mr. Bierson gave him a failing grade in shop ( _ which was a dangerous class anyway, so fuck him _ ), and then one more time after that when Harvey Dyers laughed at him for trying out for varsity track ( _ that smile didn’t last long after Eddie smoked him in the 100 yard dash, thank you very much _ ). This was a look that said, “I’m not afraid, but you should be.”

Richie prepared for a very stern, yet very shrill, and wholly Eddie talking to; what he didn’t expect was the excitement from his surrounding friends who watched with bated breath.  _ That’s a little fucked up considering I’m about to get my ass handed to me _ , he thought before turning his attention to the young man who was turning a very impressive shade of pink before his eyes.

“ **Give** **_me_ ** **a chance** .”

There was a second of confusion before the understanding hit him, not unlike a freight train. There was a second of “wait, what” before the “oh,  _ oh _ ”. And that second? It was a second too long. Eddie flailed his arms in exasperation, with no rhyme or reason, and stalked up and out of the clubhouse. 

Richie’s face told a tale of panic, but with each pair of eyes he was met with, it softened to resolve; he clambered out of the hammock, cursing his feet as he stumbled around before gaining his footing and chasing after Eddie.

Track really had suited Eddie, he was much farther than Richie could have gotten in that time, but he was still within view- not yet made it to his bike. 

“Eddie!” He hadn’t turned around.

“Eds!” He stopped on the path but made no move to face Richie.

By the time Richie had made it to his side, he sported a red flush across the high points of his face, too embarrassed to look up.

For the first time, Richard Tozier wasn’t an ass, he wasn’t awkward, and he didn’t speak. Instead, he slipped his hand into Eddie’s and waited. The sounds of the Barrens filled the space between them and as time went on something an awful lot like love did too. 


	2. 2. Not you again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NOT a fix-it. It is sad. Enjoy it anyway.

Perpetual.

Richie had read it in a book once, sometime during fourth grade give or take. “Perpetual” meaning “everlasting”, “unchanging”, “permanent”.

Nothing had ever felt permanent for Richie before, he had flit from city to city for most of his adult life, chasing a dream in a bottle for as long as his memory would go back. He never stayed in a relationship for more than a few months at a time, preferring solitude. Richie, Stan would say, resembled a hummingbird- flitting from flower to flower, only ever stopping to rest, his wings otherwise in perpetual motion. Always running away before things got too heavy, too serious.

But that was Richie  _ before _ . Before the night beneath Derry. Before he lost the man he was unwittingly running  _ toward _ . And now, there was no more running, his legs were too tired- forty years is too long to run. At some point the body will out, and now was that time.

Eddie was braver- braver than he ever knew, far beyond his own comprehension. But Richie could see it; he could see it in the way that Eddie confronted his mother, in the way that he kicked an alien-fucking-clown in the face at the age of thirteen; and how, at the age of thirty-nine, he died to save his best friend. Eddie was braver than Richie could ever be. Richie who could never gain the courage to tell the truth; who hid for his whole life out of fear that someone might see him. Richie who lost the man he loved and still couldn’t find the words until long after his body had gone cold. 

Richie was the weak one, it was never Eddie. That was a truth he would take to the grave. A grave that was much closer than any of the Losers could have expected. If you had asked anyone Richie worked with, they would have said that they had anticipated Richie dying too young; he was a drinker; he was a sad man; he was destined to be another Hollywood tragedy. But the Losers knew better- at least, they thought they did.

The only thing permanent in Richie’s life is the fact that it ended. 

  
  


The nightmares stopped for Beverly after Pennywise had died, instead replaced with loving memories of their summer together and the life she had ahead of her. Each new dream was brighter, almost blinding in their optimism, but there was a distinguishable sense of grief that punctuated each night. It made sense, she and the others had lost two of the most selfless people that had ever been. It was understandable, normal even. So regular that she hadn’t even stopped to wonder why a certain bespeckled friend had stopped appearing to her in her dreams. It took three nights before she even realized, before she gained the sense to call and ask for him. It took three nights for the Losers to find out the Richie had died. 

Richie wouldn’t have called it negligence, he didn’t mind that it took them so long. He didn’t mind because on the night that his life ended, it began again. He didn’t know what to expect from death, but it was safe to say that it wasn’t  _ this _ . 

Firstly, he wasn’t cold- he was actually surprisingly warm, comforted by the sunlight that peeked through the branches of the Barrens. The soil beneath his shoes felt so real, soft as it always had been as a child. He didn’t remember the air ever smelling so clean, so refreshing. It was like a blind man seeing for the first time, he couldn’t have imagined a better place to spend the rest of eternity, until-

“ **Not you again** .”

“All bark and no bite, Stan the Man. Don’t say you didn’t miss all of this,” he gestured lewdly to his lanky form, not at all unlike the body he had that fateful summer.

Stan broke into a smile, Richie hadn’t realized how much he had missed that smile. Stanley mounted his bike, gesturing into the distance with a nod, “Come on Rich, he’s waiting for you.”

It was all the invitation he needed, they raced each other through the bramble, high off of happiness and perpetual summer. It would be another thirty or so years until the next Loser joined them, but that’s how it should be. It would be another ten years after that for them all to be together, but that’s how it was always meant to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meet me on my tumblr @hader-hoe  
> I’m always active there and am more than happy to supply you with conversation or the occasional three sentence fic if you ask for it.  
> Much love!


	3. 3. Leave me alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains homophobic slurs, internalized homophobia, and all of the horrible things that result in stuffing yourself away in the closet for forty years. On the bright side, it has a happy ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted five minutes before the new day! We’ve written drabbles for three days straight babe! (That does not include all of the other unpublished work I’ve been doing on top of that). Hang out with me in the comments or on my tumblr. Love you all!

“Eddie?” Richie whispered into the darkness of their shared bedroom, knowing that he might not respond- after all, it was well past midnight and Eddie Kaspbrak, although well into adulthood, still abided by the bedtime that his mother set for him when he was still living in Derry. Every evening at 9:30 pm, Eddie would begin his careful nighttime regimen of rigorous toothbrushing, flossing, gargling, and an overwhelming amount of pills. Various vitamins and prescriptions that nestled in their case that is organized by day of the week and time in the day. Wednesday, Evening. That’s what Eddie had swallowed down earlier that night; one pill for blood pressure, one for anxiety, one B-3, one magnesium, one vitamin K, the second dose of calcium ( _ he had taken the first that morning with breakfast _ ), two melatonin, one cetirizine, two puffs from his aspirator, and three ibuprofen ( _ just in case he had aches in his sleep _ ). He would spend the next By 10:00 pm, on the dot, Eddie was in between his sheets and already asleep. Richie was worried, to say the least, Eddie had always been so cognizant of his health and well-being, but after exposing his mother and her placebos Richie hoped that the overcautious Eddie was gone. Richie still loved to tease him incessantly about his “gazebos”. He loved him, he knew that he would always love him. His crazed, hypochondriac of a husband- he loved him, but where there wasn’t love there was a sort of fear. It was crazy really, but part of Richie knew that fear worked in crazy ways. It was a fear that one day Eddie would wake up and realize that he couldn’t handle the mess, the dirt, the disgusting person that was his husband; it was irrational, Richie knew that, but sometimes he thought he saw a glint of aversion in Eddie’s eyes and that was enough to plant the seed. 

"Eds? Babe?" He reached out and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and pushed lightly, urging him awake. It was selfish to wake him up, he knew that, but the thought of Eddie leaving him had wormed its way into his dreams and he needed reassurance. Another light shove elicited a groan- Richie felt bad for bothering him but he was near panic at this point. Consumed by the nightmare that woke him in the first place. 

Muffled by his pillow, Eddie grumbled into the blanket cocoon he slept in near every night, “Rich,  **leave me alone** . Go back to sleep.”

It shouldn’t have stung, it was late, nearing three a.m., but the words mirrored too closely to the screaming match that took place in his dreams.

_ “I fucking hate you!” Eddie had turned a sickly, purple color, it wasn’t natural, but neither were the words coming from his mouth. The vein in his forehead stood out prominently as he continued his rampage. “You’re fucking disgusting, you disgust me. I want you to leave, don’t even fucking think about coming back here. I’m done. We’re done. Get the fuck away from me!” He beat his fists against the kitchen counter that separated the two of them in time with his words. The hammering matching that in Richie’s chest. He didn’t want to cry right now but the tears prickled behind his glasses, betraying him. He wasn’t above begging, pleading with Eddie to just talk with him, to let him stay, to not push him away like this. “You’re fucking useless, Richie. A nobody, not even good enough to write your own fucking material. You’re a goddamn mess and I want you out of my home.”  _

_ Richie had never felt so little, so meek. He managed to squeak out a small, “Eddie, this is our home. This is our life. You’re my life,” before the mug that was clenched in Eddie’s hand flew through the air, crashing somewhere near his head.  _

_ “I didn’t ask you for that, you asshole! You’re nothing but a dirty faggot- so just fucking go!  _ **_Leave me alone_ ** _!” _

_ There wasn’t more to be said, there were no words to remedy this. Eddie hated him, Eddie thought he was dirty, Eddie didn’t love him in the same way. He may never have. The tears flowed freely and Richie lost the will to fight.  _

The words Dream Eddie screamed at him resounded through his head. Spots of light came in and out of focus, his head was throbbing. Richie managed to throw himself out of bed and into the en-suite before he threw up. He felt that evening’s dinner traveling back up and watched it disappear down the his-and-his sinks that Eddie convinced him they needed when they moved in four months ago. Between each hurl, Richie could feel heavy sobs wracking through his body. He couldn’t so much hear them over the rushing of blood that shrieked in his ears, pulsating around his crowded mind. His chest constricted and each gasp of air that squeezed into his lungs wasn’t enough. Richie’s head pounded, he could  _ hear it _ pounding. Frantic and unrelenting. Willing the pain to subside, he knocked against his head, yanking at the long hair there. He was being weak, he was making a mess, he was everything that Eddie hated and  _ he knew it _ .

Eddie was out from beneath the sheets as soon as the first wave of vomit hit the sink, his fist meeting the solid wood of the bathroom door. “Richie? Richie what’s wrong? Let me in.” He could hear the sobs from behind the heavy door, punctuated by more vomiting; Eddie winced at the sound, he needed to get to Richie.  _ Nothing good ever happens in bathrooms _ , he thought, refusing to stop his ministrations. “Richie, open the fucking door,” the thumping of his fist almost rhythmic. He stepped back and braced himself as his shoulder hit the door- he would get in one way or another. As his weight met the door for a second time, the key that Richie nestled atop the door frame came loose, falling at Eddie’s feet. It took him two tries to fit the key into its slot, his hands trembled, fearing what would be on the other side of the door.

The sight of Richie curled on the cool tile, faced ruddied and wet with tears broke Eddie’s heart. He didn’t stir at Eddie bursting through the door, but the frantic gasps, let Eddie know that at least he wasn’t gone. His knees hit the ground near Richie’s head, pulling him into his lap as best he could. He took the glasses off of Richie’s face, noting the deep indents they had left on the bridge of his nose, promising to kiss them better later. He bunched up his sleep shirt and dabbed away at the tears and snot that dampened his face, whispering sweet nothings all the while. When Richie’s face was sufficiently cleaned, Eddie busied himself by smoothing the erratic curls that stuck out in odd places from sleep and Richie’s tugging. He made a mental note to brush out the curls that Richie had grown out in the year after returning to Derry; he always liked Eddie’s hands in his hair and Eddie was desperate to do anything that would bring a semblance of the man he knew back to him. 

The sun filtered through the blinds by the time Richie had calmed down enough to speak. If the bags under Eddie’s eyes were telling, it had been a long night. The sniffles had subsided and the silence was nearing uncomfortable by the time Eddie found his voice again, “Rich, baby, talk to me.”

There was no good way to say it, the only option was to just put it out there and Richie knew that- but it didn’t make it any easier. He buried his head into his husband’s lap, refusing to meet his eyes just yet, “Eddie, you hate me.” He could feel Eddie stiffen beneath him and braced himself for the response.

Eddie didn’t know how to process what Richie had thrown at him- he expected something about the murderous clown or his death. Nightmares that Richie had had time and time again in the last year, but this? This was completely unexpected and he didn’t know how to tell Richie just how wrong he was. Eddie knew that Richie needed the reassurance, but he couldn’t stop wondering what he had done to make him feel this way. Had he not shown him enough? Told him enough? Richie had been through so much, had hid for so long, and now that Eddie finally had him all to himself he thought he had done a pretty good job at showing Richie just how much he meant to him. 

“Rich-“ he started but couldn’t seem to find the words that would convey all of the wonderful truth that could encapsulate his love.

Richie clutched at his shirt, begging, “Please don’t make me leave. Don’t push me away. I love you.” The words hit like a punch to the gut. Leave? How could he ever leave? 

“Richie, slow down baby,” Eddie rubbed long circles into the tensed muscles of his back, “I could never ask you to leave, I don’t know how to do life without you.” Eddie poured as much love as he could into every touch and every word. “When you left Derry, when you forgot, I didn’t know how to move on without you in my life. Even after I left, after I- after  _ I _ forgot  _ you,  _ part of me never did. I’m not the same man without you in my life, you make me better, you make me happy. The happiest fucking person in the world. You make me laugh, everyday, even when I say you didn’t, you  _ did _ . Because you’re good. You’re the most selfless person I have ever met, you love me so well and I’m so sorry that you think that I don’t love you enough. But I will spend the rest of our long life  _ together _ proving to you that you’re it. You’re it for me, you big dummy. You’re the love of my  _ fucking life _ .” He held his breath, waiting for some sort of response. Anything that would signal that Richie understood him, believed him. 

Richie stirred in his lap, sitting up for the first time in a few hours; Eddie sympathized, they were getting too old to sleep on the ground and he knew that Richie’s back must be killing him. He kept a firm grip on the back of his neck and pulled Richie into him, foreheads pressed together and relishing in the warmth. It was a long time before Richie spoke again.

“I’m just scared Eds. I’m scared that you’re going to realize who you married and you’re going to push me out. I’m scared that you’re going to wake up one morning and see that this was all a mistake. I don’t want to lose you again.”

“Richard Tozier-Kaspbrak,” all of the softness left Eddie’s voice, he was serious now, “I want you in every way possible, every day for the rest of my life. The good days and the bad days. I want you there for every mistake and every spill. I want you there for every laugh and every milestone. I want you by my side every morning and I want to fall asleep with you every night. I want pancakes on a Tuesday morning just because, I want every bump in the road, I want to raise children with you. I want  _ you _ \- in all of the ways you’re perfect and all of the ways that you’re not. Don’t  **leave me alone** . It’s you and me, Rich. Always has been.” 

In time, they would move off of the floor, complaining about aching bones and aging bodies. They would make pancakes, just because. They would raise a family together, one that was so perfectly whole. But for now, they would sit in their love and share gentle touches because they wanted to, because they could. Because after forgetting; after the clown; after all of the fear subsided, all that was left were two hearts that would never beat alone again. 


	4. 4. You come to my room?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to apologize for this being a short chapter, I tried to compensate yesterday. I work retail and it’s Black Friday so I have no time to write anything today. This is an older Drabble that’s been sitting in my drive for like a week so please accept this in lieu of what I planned to do. Tomorrow’s chapter is going to be a sad bitch so enjoy this fluff while you can.

The light raps at his door didn’t wake him up and the nine text messages hadn’t either. What had woken Richie up was the pillow that hit his sleeping form, thrown from Stan’s side of the room. 

“What the fuck, Stan?” He grumbled into his pillow, urging his heavy head back under his covers where he was warm and content.

“Get the fucking door,” it was garbled under his duvet, but very distinctly Stan.

With a groan, much louder than it needed to be- just to provoke his sleeping roommate- he swung his legs over his mattress. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he squinted at the time on his phone, but without his glasses he couldn't see for shit; a peek out the window let him know that it was late, very late- the night behind the glass was dark with no hints of dorm rooms, illuminated by homework-conscious students. The entire hall was effectively asleep which made the second, tentative knock from behind his door all the more perplexing. Richie hissed at the cold, concrete of the floor beneath his feet, silently cursing himself for wearing only his briefs to bed, forgoing socks as well. With a careful hand, he turned the lock quietly and peeked his head out of his door, cautious not to let too much light slip past him lest he receive another missile from Stan (who is surprisingly accurate). 

“Randy, what the fuck? We aren’t making any noise!” Needless to say,Richie had fully expected their RA, Randy, to be on the other side of the door, but the sight he was met with was a lot different. Firstly, it was not Randy, but a rather red looking Eddie Kaspbrak. Secondly, he had very obviously been crying and the shaking in his knees told Richie that he wasn’t far from starting up again.

“Eds! What happened?” Richie’s voice dripped in concern but his mind was going a million miles a minute, conjuring up terrifying scenarios (Eddie’s mother dying, Eddie being hurt, one of the other Losers being hurt, Eddie leaving university). What he hadn’t expected was:

“I couldn’t sleep, panicking. Didn’t want to use,” each word punctuated with a racking gasp of air, “my inhaler. Came here.” Richie stepped fully into the hallway now, wrapping his arms around his friend’s shoulders, letting his tears and snot dampen his chest- remembering briefly that he wasn’t dressed for the occasion in the slightest. Richie winced, hoping Eddie didn’t realize that he was pressed into his half-naked body, clad only in his “Give Me Cookie” Cookie Monster boxers. The soft hands grappling at the small of his back let him know that Eddie either didn’t care or had yet to notice. Thank God for small miracles. With a few quieting sniffles, Richie took the opportunity to nuzzle his face in Eddie’s hair, taking in deep breaths that pushed against Eddie’s chest, urging him to copy his movements. As soon as Eddie had his breathing under control again, Richie had gathered the courage to ask him what had happened.

His response was muffled, covered by the awkward placement of his mouth near Richie’s clavicle and the thick sweatshirt he was wrapped in, “Dunno, my brain just wouldn’t stop. Couldn’t turn it off. Thoughts were too loud, I thought I was drowning.” It was as much of an answer as Richie was going to get.

“How can I help Spaghetti?”

For once, Eddie hadn’t corrected him and Richie could feel the heat radiating off of Eddie as he mumbled into his hoodie- deliberately this time.

Rubbing small circles into his back to soothe the panic that leeched from Eddie’s pores, Richie let out a small and inquisitive hum to the crown of Eddie’s head, his cheek still planted firmly there. Eddie’s body went slack as he sighed. “Can I stay here?”

Richie pulled back, holding his friend at arm’s length, and looking into his swollen and impossibly deep eyes.

“ **You come to my room and wake me up at 4 am, to cuddle?** ” A small, and reassuring, smile playing on his lips.

“Can I come in or not, Trashmouth?”

With a grand sweep of his arms, somehow brimming with energy and amusement despite the late hour, he gestured into the open room, “It would be my pleasure.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, but was secretly thankful for Richie. Even more so as he reached his arm around Eddie’s chest, dragging him impossibly closer in the small twin bed. His even breathing lulled Eddie to sleep and he was able to take a deep breath for the first time that night, surrounded by the smell and the warmth of his best friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read this, it means a lot to me. Finals week is this upcoming week so I am still unable to work on my larger pieces but as soon as I finish my classes on Wednesday, I’m all yours! (Besides the two jobs thing ofc)! Love you all so much!


	5. 5. We can’t keep this up forever.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The sun shone warmly into the Derry Public Library- casting long streaks of light to spill over the rows of encyclopedias, swaddling the patrons that milled through the stacks. Sitting at a desk tucked into a back corner of the adult library sat Richie Tozier. The sun wove around the hunched boy as if to put some brightness into his heart. His heart which felt broken, a little too gloomy in a day as beautiful as this one. He scribbled furiously into a spiral-bound notebook that had been gifted to him by the school counselor- an outlet of sorts to help quell the waves of anxiety that threatened to upheave his young life. Richie’s eyes were rubbed raw- a side effect of rough denim against damp tears. He was nearly done with his first outpouring and the words that flowed through him so freely seemed so dark against the crisp white of the pages.
> 
> Dear Diary,"
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING:  
> implied/reference to self-harm  
> mental illness  
> depression

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to firstly apologize for my hiatus. My depression has been at a very high level recently and I stopped making all of my art- writing included. It didn't bring me the same joy and the thought of writing at all made me extremely anxious. With that said, this piece started out as a personal diary entry that I molded into a Reddie fic with a few character name drops and some Richie-centric emotions, but it is primarily my own entry. Please feel free to join me in the comments or hop over to my tumblr if you'd like to discuss this piece, any of my pieces, or anything else. I thrive off of the interaction yo all have with my writing even if it's just to tell me that I suck. Truly, please reach out if you feel so inclined. Thank you as always for your love, your attention- and most importantly- your patience as I figure my shit out. I am working on writing several chapters for almost all of my fics and a new canon-compliant piece that's already breaking my heart. Feel free to stick around for all of that and more. Love you bunches.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING:  
> implied/reference to self-harm  
> mental illness  
> depression

The sun shone warmly into the Derry Public Library- casting long streaks of light to spill over the rows of encyclopedias, swaddling the patrons that milled through the stacks. Sitting at a desk tucked into a back corner of the adult library sat Richie Tozier. The sun wove around the hunched boy as if to put some brightness into his heart. His heart which felt broken, a little too gloomy in a day as beautiful as this one. He scribbled furiously into a spiral-bound notebook that had been gifted to him by the school counselor- an outlet of sorts to help quell the waves of anxiety that threatened to upheave his young life. Richie’s eyes were rubbed raw- a side effect of rough denim against damp tears. He was nearly done with his first outpouring and the words that flowed through him so freely seemed so dark against the crisp white of the pages.

Dear Diary,

I have officially hit gay rock bottom. I mean- a diary? What am I? A thirteen-year-old girl? A fucking pussy is what I am, can’t even metabolize my own feelings without some sort of fucking crutch. So, here we are. Or here I am, I guess? You’re not a sentient book, so yeah- here I am. Here and still so fucking lost. I can’t even really put into words just how I feel. Empty? Doesn’t quite feel right. Hollow? That’s a little better. Numb? Sometimes, yeah. I just feel so hopeless, all of the time. And the worst part is I can’t even ask for help. Now I know what you’re thinking (not really, again- not sentient)! I can totally ask for help, I have a great group of friends, they support me no matter what, they’ll always have my back. Yeah, I could ask for their support  _ in theory _ , but reality is so much fucking harder than theory. In theory, I’m happy. In theory, I’m a whole person uninhibited by big, adult, real-world issues. But this isn’t theory. This is my fucking life. And I’m so tired of living it. 

It’s like every morning I wake up and there’s this big rock on my chest and I can finally understand why Eddie uses that damn inhaler all of the time. It’s suffocating. You know sometimes I look at myself, really look at myself. And I see my wrists and I think “ya know Rich. Something’s missing. You’d look so much better with some bracelets on.” If you catch my drift. There are these creases right under my palms that just look so god damn inviting and I know- I know- I shouldn’t think like that and I wouldn’t ever actually do it. But the thoughts are so fucking intrusive and sometimes I can’t make the voice in my head shut the fuck up when all I want is one fucking day of peace and quiet! And I think to myself, what’s it like to be someone else? Anyone else? To wake up and feel excited and happy to be awake and alive and face a day of opportunity and happiness? What’s it like to wake up and take the day head-on with no fear? No anxiety? To just go out and do what you need to do without thinking about all of the ways you’re fucking it up and wasting your time and annoying your friends and waiting- just waiting- for one of them, for Eds to finally snap and just tell me to fuck off already. What the fuck is that like and why can’t I have that? One day of being normal?

I just don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t know why I am this way. Why I’m so sad all of the time. Just Richie “Trashmouth” Tozier who can’t seem to find any good fucking chucks anymore. If I have to keep faking all of this shit for one more minute I might lose my goddamn mind. And Eds, fuck. He can see right through it. Right through all of the bullshit. I don’t know how. He just sees me. Really sees me and that scares me. So much more than I can even try and comprehend. I’ve been avoiding him. It hurts him, I can tell. I haven’t snuck out to see him in almost a month and I know that hurts him, but how do I tell him? How do I say that being seen is too much all at once? That letting down that guard is almost impossible. Because I know he won’t like what’s behind this curtain. It’s too much, too messy, too dirty and what if he does see that? What if I show him and he doesn’t want to see me anymore? What if I show him all of those corners and the dust bunnies under the rug and he leaves? For good? I couldn’t handle that. He’s my best friend, better than Stan, better than Bill. He’s different. 

Diary, I think I might love him. Or maybe love him one day. I don’t know. That’s too big for me to even think about. But I know that he’s different in the way that someone you love would be. It’s like my heart can’t physically take being away from him and all I think about is how good it would feel if he would just hold me. Is that gay? Yeah I mean that’s kind of the definition of gay, isn’t it? And I want to retaliate and say “I don’t care if that’s gay, that’s how I feel, and I love Edward Kaspbrak” but I can’t. Because this is reality and I can’t say those words in this reality. It’s too big. Too much. 

I want to stop being so scared all of the time. I put on this face and it fools people well enough but I am just so scared. It’s like I’m on this tightrope but it’s suspended above knives and hellfire and all that shit. And if I just make one misstep then I’m dead. Sometimes I want to be.  **We can’t keep this up forever** . I can’t keep this up forever.

Richie closed the book with a snap, earning him a stern look from the old lady behind the desk. He couldn’t meet her eyes and instead shoved his belongings into his backpack, hurrying out into the light bustle of the afternoon. He wanted this to make him feel better, but somehow, seeing the thoughts in his head in front of him only complicated the already complex emotions he felt. The sun still shone on Richie, despite the storm that brewed in his mind. The sun would continue you to shine on Richie for the rest of his long life and with time and help from the people he loves- the storm died down. The sun shone inside of him too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr @hader-hoe  
> and a huge shoutout to Caroline and Meg for being such rocks and such support. I don't know what I would do without you two.

**Author's Note:**

> Meet me on my tumblr @hader-hoe  
> I’m always active there and am more than happy to supply you with conversation or the occasional three sentence fic if you ask for it.  
> Much love!


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